


Complacency

by alasondria



Category: Phantasy Star Online 2
Genre: F/M, Luthaly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22534021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alasondria/pseuds/alasondria
Summary: She has devoted herself to him, body and soul; even when his have been wrested from him.
Kudos: 2





	Complacency

**Author's Note:**

> a little oracle au blurb

Alasondria is aware of what she’s doing.

She knows that where she is now and that all she does now is further ensnaring ARKS in the schemes of someone who is not the man she worked alongside all those years ago.

But he has his face, he has his name. 

She knows she’s a coward. She knows she’s spinning the cogs of his machine further along. She  _ knows. _

But she can’t stop herself. How could she? How could she ever resist him? Every part of her is intertwined with him, no matter what he should become. She has devoted herself to him, body and soul; even when his have been wrested from him.

Luther is not Luther. And yet, he is. When he turns from the monitors and fixes her with a gaze that softens almost instantly she can see the man she’d fallen for back when they were simply two foolhardy scientists fumbling along in their curiosity together. She sees him and, she thinks, he sees her.  _ Luther  _ sees her. Not Loser. And when he slowly drags his knuckles along her cheek, his fingers purposefully ghosting over her skin like a whisper, she holds her breath and tries to swallow the sob that’s caught itself in her throat because that is  _ him. _ That is  _ Luther. _

And then he’s gone again. A sardonic laugh passes from his lips and she knows she’s lost him.

But she still clings desperately to those moments, when the man she knew flickers into view briefly. So,  _ so _ briefly.

She had stayed by his side relentlessly, hoping her presence would anchor him, pull him out of the depths he’s drowning in. Even now she wonders—hopes? No,  _ prays  _ there is a chance he’ll surge forward through the dark and return to her.

When she’s alone, when he’s ordered her to stay in the room and keep watch, she talks to Xion. 

“I know you must see us,” she says. “You saw us then.”

The air is silent save for the dull  _ blip _ of a transmission appearing on Luther’s monitors.

“He’s lost so much,” she tries again. “I only want to help him.”

It’s almost like a confession but everyone involved is as much a sinner as they are saints. It’s not black and white. They all know that.

“If you’re watching now,” Alasondria starts, her voice faltering. She’s quiet as she feebly attempts to pick apart the thoughts gnawing away at the edges of her mind. Xion was as a God to them. She delivered unto them knowledge that advanced their civilization beyond their wildest imaginations, she yielded to them, provided them answers to every inquiry. And then the end days fell upon them and she disappeared; no words spoken, no signs given. Even when Luther pleaded for help—another way,  _ anything _ else—for his creation, his pride, his joy, his living, breathing _ family,  _ Xion offered no recourse and Harriet was sacrificed to martyrdom.

Alasondria had never unpacked the conflict that raged inside her when she thought of Xion after that. Yet here she was, standing in the middle of this room, a plea of her own on the tip of her tongue.

“If you’re watching now,” she began again. “Please... don’t let this be his legacy. This isn’t him. You know that.”

Of course, there is only the hum of the monitors and their errant  _ blips. _


End file.
